


La Salle Blanche

by Ono_ohyes



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: And Getting Darker, Gen, Minor Character Deaths, With cameos from Marinette and Manon, a little dark around the edges tho, frequent flyers, like REALLY dark, now with added omake!, social pressures set to: off, what happens in the white room stays in the white room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8215594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ono_ohyes/pseuds/Ono_ohyes
Summary: Ladybug always wins, but that doesn't mean there isn't collateral damage. Being on the front lines, either by choice or by circumstance, means the risk of being part of that collateral damage. But what do you do while you wait for Ladybug to put the world back in order?





	1. The Place Between

She felt like she was floating. Opening her eyes didn't help; she was in a featureless place, completely suffused by a soft, white light, no detail, no definition, a quiet, meaningless murmur surrounding her. She wasn't actually sure if she had opened her eyes or not, since nothing had changed, but that's how this place was. Nothing was fixed, until it was.

"I am Chloé Bourgeois." It wasn't just her name, here. The words were a trigger, something for her sense of self to connect to, and she felt herself coalesce into her body, her true self, the quintessential Chloé-ness that could only ever be discovered here. Now, when she blinked, the blinding whiteness gave way to darkness a bit. It was like looking at a lamp with her eyes closed; she could still see the light, but it was a differentiation, something that she used to orient herself.

Having pulled herself together, Chloé got down to business. She turned her head until she could see IT, just out of the corner of her eye, the dark looming shape that was her Door. She didn't turn to look at it, since that wouldn't have done any good; it would have just moved behind her, out of her sight. She just had to confirm that it was there... as if she couldn't feel the tug of it, looming menacingly, waiting to swallow her up. No, she knew exactly where that horrid thing was, her Door, even without looking, because it pulled on her. Oblivion waited for her, if she so chose to pass through it. But this time, just like every other, she did not. Instead, she set herself to waiting.

She didn't know who would come, this time, but she had to look her best, just in case. She concentrated, and the amorphous, diaphanous caul that was apparently the default garment here moved and flowed into a couture dress; one of her favorites from last year, but no one who would show up would notice it was out of style. Closing her eyes, Chloé focused her attention on the quiet susurration of this place, trying to pick out the voice of her visitor, not sure who she was hoping to hear. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it; in the beginning, it had often been Sabrina who came, but was just as likely to another classmate, or even a complete stranger or one of those awful akuma. Once it had been Cat Noir, but lately, Ladybug herself had appeared. One time, too late, she realized the young blond woman who had joined her was her dear departed maman; all the questions she'd have had, if only she'd known!

There. One note had separated from the mass of whispers, gaining distinctiveness, getting clearer as the visitor Dopplered closer... but there was something different, this time. Something wrong. And it wasn't until her visitor appeared that Chloé discovered what was wrong: She was screaming and unformed, a mass of mocha skin in the standard glowing, diaphanous caul. And she had a Door, too. Chloé hadn't summoned up a vision this time; she'd pulled a real person to her. A real person that was truly in distress, and screaming... no, wailing, loud and shrill. She found her voice as she found her shape, and as the girl coalesced, Chloé found herself staring into the terrified face of Alya Césaire, girl reporter. She was possessed by the urge to slap Alya, who was still screaming (!), until she noticed the Ladyblogger had started drifting towards her Door. That was why she was screaming, then; she was feeling the tug of oblivion, and couldn't do anything to stop it.

A lot of people thought that Chloé was heartless, and wouldn't have been at all surprised if she'd just let the other girl go (a testament to the craftsmanship of her façade), but that wasn't who she was, not really. They would have been surprised see her lunge for Alya, reaching for the other girl. They certainly would not have been surprised by her snarl of rage when, dragged down by the weight of her own Door, she fell just centimeters short. But Chloé had deep reserves of willpower, and that's what mattered in this place, strength of will. The two Doors were pushing against each other like magnets with the same polarity, but Chloé pushed back harder. Digging deeper, she untethered the part of her mind that was maintaining her own form, and her couture gown dissolved; it wasn't much, but it was enough. A finger, then her whole hand wrapped around Alya's foot, then a mighty HEAVE... and the Door's hold on Alya was broken. Well, not broken, exactly, but diminished.

"Calm down, Césaire. You're not going anywhere." Alya looked down at the girl holding her leg. The girls were at different orientations, almost perpendicular to each other; that's what happened when there was no defined up and down, only behind. Everything else was relative.

"Ladybug? What are you doing here?"

Chloé looked down at her arms, red and spotted; of course, when she had needed strength, she'd turned to Ladybug. Who else could save this girl? Not spoiled, pampered, weak little Chloé. That sort of thing took a real hero.

Frustrated that her insecurities had manifested so clearly, Chloé concentrated, willing her clothing into something else, and ended up in her usual outfit. At the same time, she rotated herself around, so that the two of them were on the same plane, more or less. Alya gasped, and scrambled back; fortunately, her Door behaved, maintaining its distance.

"Chloé! What have you done with Lad....." Alya trailed off as she took in her surroundings, not that there was much to see. "Uh... where are we? And what's that?!" she demanded, pointing over Chloé's shoulder.

"Where are we? That's a good question. I thought an intrepid journalist like you could figure that one out on your own. As for that," Chloé said, with a dismissive gesture over her shoulder, falling into her familiar patterns now that the danger was past, "that's just Death's Door. You've got one, too." Alya's Door was sleek and metallic, lit with various colors. Chloé had no doubt that it would iris open like the maw of some beast if Alya decided to go through it. Alya spent the next couple of minutes trying to get a good look at her Door, to no avail. That was the thing with Doors; since they were always behind you, you could never really get a good look at your own, although you could apparently see other people's. Her own Door was much more classical, decorated in the Rococo style... probably. She'd occasionally asked her visitors to describe the door to her, and it was always very foreboding, but never quite the same, like trying to describe something from a dream. Maybe it changed, or maybe her visitors were liars, she didn't know.

When Chloé got bored of watching Alya chasing her own tail, she casually remarked on the fact that Alya wasn't wearing anything. Glancing down at herself, Alya squawked, blushed deeply, then curled up into a ball and asked Chloé (in a tiny little voice) how to "get some clothes here?!" Chloé let her twist for a minute before taking pity on the poor girl and sharing the secret of this place... well, one of the secrets, anyway. Alya concentrated poorly; she flitted through several ensembles, including Ladybug, Lady Wifi, and Chloe's current outfit, but finally stabilized on something approximating her usual jeans and flannel look. That was a good sign, though. She wanted to be herself.

As her skin returned to a more normal hue, Alya started to ask questions, but Chloé just held up a finger and cut her off.

"Look, I know you probably want to know everything about this place, but I can't help you. I don't know much about it myself. But I can tell you that there are rules here: First, nothing is here until you make it here. Willpower is queen. Second, what happens here stays here; you won't even remember it unless you come back. Third, and most importantly, never go through your Door. As long as you are here, Ladybug will bring you back. But once you go through your Door, you're gone." Overwhelmed, Alya had been reduced to stunned nodding. Chloé waited until she had recovered enough to speak, and as soon as Alya opened her mouth, Chloé continued.

"You've been here before, you know. Do you remember?" Alya scrunched up her face; Chloé couldn't tell if she was thinking or pouting. But it didn't take long for a look of recognition to spread across Alya's face.

"Yeah... I have. I think... yeah. It seems familiar."

"Do you remember when?"

"No... no, it's all jumbled together. Do you know?" A nod. "When was it?" Chloé smirked. Time for the big reveal... she hoped Alya could put the pieces together.

"Timebreaker." Confusion scrolled across Alya's face; what did Alix's akuma self have to with this place? Then comprehension struck as she looked at Chloé's Door. Death's Door.

In a tiny voice, Alya whispered "Chloé... are we dead?" Chloé threw up her hands and cheered. She was gratified that Alya had come through.

"I knew you could put it together, Césaire. Yes, we're dead, killed by an akuma." Alya collapsed to her knees, like a puppet with her strings cut, her mouth hanging open, and tears welling up,in her eyes. "Oh relax!" Chloé snapped. "We're only mostly dead. As long as you don't go through your Door, Ladybug will bring you back. She always has before." As if on cue, a single red and black beetle appeared. "You won't remember it, but you might dream about. And of course, you can remember if," Chloé paused, considering Alya's hobby, "... when you come back here." Alya regained her composure as the swarm grew and surrounded them, the noise of its wings deafening. Just before they swept her away, she yelled out a final question.

"How often have you been here, Chloé?" She didn't bother to reply; she'd long since lost count. Then the swarm overwhelmed her, and once again, she forgot.


	2. Tripping on Mental Landmines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya discovers something about Chloé.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind comments and feedback on chapter one. Now, let's take a deeper look inside Chloé's head...

The pair of them sat at a small café table in the white expanse, once again the victim of their hobbies (Alya) or their habits (Chloé). Chloé had willed herself a cute little sundress and hat, both buttery yellow, and a pair of strappy sandals, while Alya was dressed in her normal outfit (although she was wearing a little black beret as a concession to the setting). Alya took a long drink from her cup; setting it down, she tried once again to surprise her Door, turning quickly, then reversing course. The Door didn't fall for it, of course, and there was no momentum to carry it along into her field of vision. Exasperated, Alya took a moment to flip her Door the bird before turning back to Chloé.

"I have to admit, you think up a mean cup of coffee." Chloé blushed a little at the compliment but recovered quickly, brushing it off. A sly grin snuck on to Alya's face; she was easy to read normally, but here she didn't even have the minimal filters she did in the... well, that she usually did.

"I know you're just buttering me up, Césaire. Just ask what you're going to ask."

"Tell me about your first time."

 _Ever the snoop_. Chloé sipped her coffee while she thought about how to answer the question. Alya was right, it was very good coffee, because it didn't taste like coffee tasted, all bitter and burnt. This coffee tasted like coffee should taste, like it was the Platonic ideal of coffee. At least, it was Chloé's Platonic ideal of coffee. She was aware that the concept didn't make much sense, a relative objective, but since everything here was relative, she let herself get away with it, and turned back to the matter at hand. Deciding on an answer, she waited until Alya took a drink before speaking.

"Well, I can't say whether Pierre or Jeanne-Marie was first, it was more like both of them at the same time. They were brother and sister, and we were inseparable that summer..." Chloé's timing was perfect; the Ladyblogger choked wonderful Platonic coffee out her nose, spraying it across the table with enough force that Chloé wound up covered in a good deal of nose-coffee herself. She was laughing too hard to care, though; so hard, in fact, that she fell off her chair and onto the non-existent floor.

"You are a such a bitch, Chloé Bourgeois! I would so kill you if you weren't already dead." Alya was chuckling as she wiped her nose; normally, her words would have been angry, but in this place, things were different... they were different. They may have been deadly enemies at school, but here they were... well, maybe not friends, but they could laugh at each other, and at themselves. As it turns out, being dead relieved a lot of the social pressures that normally weighed on the two girls.

"How do you know you didn't?" Chloé asked from the "ground". Alya just shrugged.

"Maybe I did. You had to get here somehow, right? Although I think I'd remember something like that." Alya reflected for a moment on how she'd gotten here this time: She'd seen the sparking wire, but hadn't gotten out of the way fast enough. It had burned, and hurt, and she didn't want to ever do that again. Pushing that thought away, she turned back to the question at hand.

"Seriously, though... When was the first time you woke up here?" With a thought, Chloé was back in her chair, but it was no longer the ridiculously rickety wreck it had been. Now, it was her father's chair, the one from his office, his literal seat of power. Chloé was suddenly subdued; Alya noticed the sign of her discomfort, but she didn't say anything, and she didn't turn back. It was a difficult subject, and she didn't want to make Chloé feel any more self-conscious than she already had. Just as Alya opened her mouth to take the question back, Chloé started to speak in a quiet, timid voice. It was so unlike her.

"I'm not sure, really. I mean, the first time I remember was when Timebreaker killed us all. But you may have noticed I'm a bit of an akuma magnet," Alya threw her a glance that conveyed several complex emotions, "... so I've been here a few times that I'm sure of, and maybe more that I'm not." She shrugged and took another sip of her coffee. Alya was ticking off something on her fingers, then turned to Chloé.

"An akuma _magnet_? Girl, you're responsible for almost as many people turning into akuma as Hawk Moth! Ivan, Alix, me, Nathanaël, Kim, Sabrina, Juleka, Rose... and those are just the kids in our class! Heck, the only akuma in our class you aren't responsible for are Nino, Max, and yourself." She didn't know where that had come from, but as soon as it was out of her mouth, Alya knew she'd stepped over the line. So much for not making her feel self-conscious. The café table disappeared, replaced by a large, dark desk, and her chair grew taller and deeper.

"Shut up, Césaire! What do you know?" Ice dripped from her words, and Alya realized that the Rococo monstrosity of Chloé's Door was looming over the blond girl. Alya immediately shifted into damage control mode.

"Wait, wait! I was just teasing! Chloé, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was such a sore point for you." Reaching over the desk, she took Chloé's hands; if that Door opened, Alya would need all the help she could get to keep Chloé from going through. And suddenly, it seemed like that was a possibility.

Chloé was hurt and ashamed; Alya was right, but she didn't have to point it out like that, to mock her like that. She tried to stare Alya down, to reestablish her dominance, but couldn't bring herself to meet the other girl's eyes. She knew what she'd see there: Disdain. Worse, pity. Chloé Bourgeois was not one to be pitied, or mocked, or disdained. How dare she, that stupid little snoop, playing at being a journalist?! Rage welled up inside her, pushing aside her shame, and she locked eyes with Alya, but she was utterly unprepared for what she saw there.

Genuine concern.

It hit her like a physical blow. In her life, no one was concerned for Chloé. Her father loved her, spoiled her, but basically assumed she knew what she was doing, and anyway, he didn't have time to be involved in his daughter's life. Sabrina, poor little Sabrina, was so loyal and so co-dependent; she didn't really care about Chloé, though, she cared about the stability that Chloé brought to her life. She could (and would) be replaced in a heartbeat, like she had been during the whole Evillustrator episode. Everyone else, literally everyone, thought she was nothing more that a spoiled brat, concerned about nothing more than her own comforts and desires. Most people, if they thought of her at all, were only trying to minimize their contact with her. Even Adrien, sweet, wonderful Adrien, had forsaken her as soon as he had found other friends, better friends.

Rage drained out of her, replaced by despair; ironically, Alya's concern had only dredged up her own insecurities, made her feel more worthless. She could feel her Door breathing down her neck; she could tell it had opened, and it would be so easy just to let go... She was so worthless, no one would even care if she was gone. She felt her will sapping away, and she felt herself slipping closer and closer to the threshold. Only Alya's grip held her back.

The desk dissolved, the chair dissolved, Chloé's cute little sundress ensemble dissolved, and Chloé's very shape started to lose its form, fuzzing around the edges. Alya abandoned Chloé's hands, wrapping her arms around the increasingly amorphous girl.

"No! You can't go, I won't let you!" Alya willed up a wall, thick, stout brick, between Chloé and her Door, and it seemed to help. Chloé's face stabilized, but her hair was unbound, and tears streaked her cheeks. "You are Chloé goddamn Bourgeois, and you will not go gently into that night, do you hear me? Do you hear me?!" Chloé was still inert, a dead weight in her arms, not even resisting her Door anymore.

Alya was terrified. Her own Door was pulling on her, trying to pry her away from her fri... compatriot. Her wall was failing, and Chloé's Door was inching inexorably closer. Bricks crumbled and were sucked through, but Alya clutched even tighter. Just as she thought they were both going to be lost, she felt Chloé's arms wrap around her, and a black and red blur zipped across her vision. Relief flooded her as the wave of ladybugs swept over them, and blessed forgetfulness took them both.

* * *

For a week after the akuma attack, Chloé seemed to be going out of her way to torment Alya. No one knew what the Ladyblogger had done to earn her ire; to be honest, even Chloé didn't know why she was being so mean, but everyone put it down to Chloé being Chloé. It didn't really matter; she wasn't a person to be understood, she was a force of nature to be avoided or endured.

What no one else saw, though, was how Chloé cried herself asleep every night that week, or woke in a cold sweat every morning, or what tormented her in her dreams. No one saw what she did to relieve the pressure, and Chloé, acutely aware of the consequences of being discovered, was careful to make sure that no one ever would.

 

 


	3. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody Hates Chloé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks, this chapter gets pretty dark. Be warned.

"I'm sorry." Chloé didn't respond. She just sat on the "floor", arms wrapped around her knees, curled into a ball; she was still wearing the diaphanous caul that she'd arrived in, not bothering to get dressed. "I'm really sorry. I didn't know ..." Alya sighed, sitting down next to her fr... Yes, friend. Here, they were friends. Chloé scooted away.

"Go away." Alya scooted closer.

"No. I don't know how long we're going to be here, but I'm not going to leave you here." Alya crossed her legs and crossed her arms, resolute. "I'm not going to let you wallow here alone, girl. You don't have to say anything, you don't even have to get dressed, but I'm going to stay here with you."

"Why? You hate me. Go away."

 _She's at least talking, which is good_. "I don't hate you, Chloé."

"You feel guilty." Alya mulled that one over for a moment before responding.

"A little, yeah. But that's not why I'm here." Chloé turned her head enough to fix Alya with one narrowed, bloodshot blue eye. Alya thought that probably she'd been crying. When Chloé spoke, though, her words dripped with venom.

"No, you're here because an akuma dropped the ceiling on us." The memory of the crushing weight flashed through her mind; that was one that Alya wouldn't mind losing.

"No, I'm here because you need a friend." Her words came out a little hotter than intended, and Chloé flinched, turning away again. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Alya tried again. "Look, I get it. I hurt your feelings, and I'm sorry for doing that. But there's clearly something else there, and I want to help. So, if you think that telling someone will help, you can tell me." A little willpower, and Alya conjured up a soft, fluffy blanket that she draped around Chloé's shoulders.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't need your help, and I don't need your company. How could you help me, anyway? You're just as dead as I am. What, couldn't get any good pictures of the akuma for your stupid blog, so you stepped out in front of a bus or something?" Chloé was lashing out, trying to hurt her, and it did hurt. But Alya noticed that she had pulled the blanket closer, and she hadn't scooted away again. _Baby steps_. "If you really want to help me, then go away." Alya ignored that, and returned to her previous angle of attack.

"Anything you tell me stays here, Chloé. I promise." They both knew how little that promise was worth; they could only remember this place when they were here, so of course she would keep the secret. Alya's promise was hardly worth speaking, but she still felt it was important to say. "If you want to say something, I'm here to listen." Chloé's head turned slowly towards Alya, who withered under the baleful gaze, but held fast. She'd started down this road, and she was too stubborn to abandon it just because it wasn't going to be easy. "Or if you just want to glare at me, that's okay, too."

Chloé was throwing a tantrum, and she was _good_ at it. But Alya had more younger siblings than she cared to count, and they were better; she'd weathered way worse storms. Chloé's glare had actual weight here, but Alya was a rock, unmoving. They sat like that for who knows how long, each one waiting for the other to crack. Eventually, Chloé broke the silence.

"I can make you leave, you know." Alya turned to face her, smirking.

"No you can't. I'm here for you, girl, and I'm not leaving." It was Chloé's turn to smirk. She sat up a bit straighter, and looked over her shoulder at Alya's Door. It didn't flee from her gaze like her own did, which made sense; it embodied Alya's end, not hers. Chloé fixed its appearance in her mind: The sheen of chrome and brushed metal, the almost sensuous curve of the frame, the row of flashing, changing lights... but still so plain, so functional, compared to her own Door. With an effort of will, she constructed its likeness in front of Alya, mere centimeters from her face; if the Door could breathe, it would have fogged her glasses. The Ladyblogger scrabbled back, startled, then scared. A tweak of concentration, and the illusionary Door irised open, thick tentacles (or maybe cables) spilling out and reaching for her. In that moment, Alya did something she would regret as long as she remembered it: She fled, disappearing to another part of the white room.

And she didn't come back.

Everything dissolved, and Chloé sat, naked and alone, on the threshold of her Door until the swarm of ladybugs came to collect her.

* * *

In her dream, it was after her, the round, chromed mouth of some unspeakable thing. It was opening and closing, gnashing its teeth, just waiting to sink them in to her succulent flesh. Tongues lashed out, reaching for her, tripping her up. She fell, tangled in the metal-and-rubber tongues, and then it was on her. She cowered, arms over her head, dreading the moment it would bite... but it spoke, instead.

"Mme. Césaire?" How did it know her name? It couldn't... Why did it sound like her teacher? ... Oh. Uh oh. The realization snapped Alya out of her dream, and sent her hurtling back to semi-consciousness, where her teacher stood over her. She did not look amused.

"Mme. Césaire, if you cannot stay awake in class, you cannot stay in class. Your snores are disturbing the rest of us. Out!" Still only half-awake, Alya collected her things and staggered out of the class room, headed towards the principal's office. She never got there; she made it as far as a bench in the hallway before she needed to stop for a rest, and that's where she was when Marinette found her at lunch time. Not asleep (never asleep can't sleep DON'T SLEEP), but in a daze, staring into the courtyard.

"Alya, Alya, wake up! You missed the whole morning! What's going on?" Alya blink at her best friend, vision swimming. Words tumbled out of her mouth, without much form or forethought.

"Jus' ti'rd. Dinnt sleep last night. N'mares." Marinette, no stranger to sleepless nights herself, propped her friend up as she started to slouch. Concern tinged her eyes, but Alya didn't see it; eyes already glazed over, she was slipping into a fugue. With a sigh, Marinette threw Alya's arm over her shoulder, then wrapped her own arm around Alya's waist and heaved her off the bench. By turns careening, guiding, and outright carrying her best friend, Marinette managed to Alya-handle the young reporter across the street and up the stairs, where she tucked her friend into her own bed.

"I'll tell them you had to go home sick, and get all your notes for you, okay? You just sleep here, and feel better, okay?" Alya managed to acknowledge her, and even though she didn't use actual words, Marinette chose to believe she was saying "thank you."

Alya tried to fight off sleep (and the attendant nightmares), but her subconscious mind recognized the scent that pervaded the bedclothes as Ladybug's. Comforted, Alya slipped into dreamless sleep, and slept undisturbed for the rest of the afternoon.

Back at school, Chloé noticed Alya's absence and felt a small, strange twinge of guilt, for no apparent reason.

* * *

_She's not coming._

"Of course she's not coming. What you did to her is unforgivable. She'll probably never come back again." Mme. Bustier took another sip of her wine. "And it's all your fault. No wonder you don't have any real friends. You're going to be alone your entire life, Chloé Bourgeois. Pretty much what you deserve, if you ask me." Another sip of wine.

Chloé hadn't chosen her visitor; Mme. Bustier had just showed up with a bottle of wine and a boatload of criticism. She wasn't saying anything new, just mirroring what Chloé was thinking; that was the way of this place, after all. Here she was, disheveled and naked, curled up in a little ball while being berated by what amounted to no more than a jumped-up imaginary friend. Ridiculous.

_I'm not alone. I have friends._

"Oh, really? Who would they be? That poor little puppy dog Sabrina, who always comes back no matter how hard you kick her? It's easy to make up when you fight with her, isn't it? Just buy her something nice." Another sip and the glass was empty, so Mme. Bustier poured herself another. "But not too nice, of course; you wouldn't want her getting uppity."

The worst part was that Mme. Bustier was right: She didn't have Alix's athleticism or Adrien's charisma to help her win friends, but she had money, so she used it. _There's nothing wrong with that._

"Oh, no, nothing wrong with buying friends. I hear that all the _best_ friends are bought and paid for." Another sip.

_I'm not buying friends. I'm being generous!_

"Oh yes, keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night." Mme. Bustier sat up, suddenly excited, sloshing the blood-red wine around in her glass. "That reminds me! I brought something to help you sleep." She reached into a pocket and withdrew a small cardboard box, which she tossed at Chloé's feet. It was Chloé's brand, of course; after all, Mme. Bustier was just a projection of Chloé's mind (apparently, a part of Chloé's mind that really hated her).

"Alya asked me to bring these to you, and to let you know that they work best if you dig really deep." Chloé winced at the mention of her erstwhile friend, but her visitor didn't notice. Or perhaps didn't care. "Of course, you don't have to go through all that trouble." Mme. Bustier gestured behind Chloé. "All you have to do is lean back, and this will all be over. That's what you really want me to say, isn't it?" Another sip. "It's not true, of course, but hey, feel free to tell yourself whatever lies you need."

 _Why are you even here? You don't even like me!_ At that, Mme. Bustier sat up, resting her glass on the table and fixing her with a weighty stare. A small smile played about the teacher's lips, as if she was stifling a laugh.

"No, Chloé, I don't like you." The smile broke into a grin, and Mme. Bustier took another sip of wine, leaning closer. "None of us like you. In fact, we all hate you. You're nothing but a spoiled little brat, a jumped-up trollop who thinks that coming from money means you're actually worth something. But you're not. You're worthless. Utterly worthless." Another sip. "And I'm glad I got to be the one to tell you that. There's quite a line, you know; I had to beat out Ladybug and your father to be here, but I'm so glad I am." Leaning back, Mme. Bustier drained her glass again.

_I'm not..._

"Loved? No, you're not."

_I'm not..._

"Liked? No, you're not that, either."

_I'm not..._

"Beautiful? I'm afraid not. You're not smart, you're not popular, you're not good at anything, or for anything." Mme. Bustier paused for a moment, thinking. "Well, I take that back. You are an excellent example of what not to be." She threw back her head and laughed; the sound cut Chloé to the quick, and she tried to squeeze even smaller, but it didn't work.

"You're so worthless, even you're own mother wouldn't have you. You were such a shame to her, that she'd rather die than be around you." Chloé's blood chilled at the mention of her mother. At what her mother had done.

 _That's not true._ Mme. Bustier just laughed again, that cutting, mocking laugh. Chloé ducked her head farther into her knees, covering her ears, trying to block out that terrible laughter. She could feel the hot streaks of tears burning their way down her face.

_Just go away._

The laughter stopped, replaced by the sound of the wine bottle shattering on the ground. The little box of razors was momentarily awash in the blood-red wine before it, too, faded away.

 _Dig really deep... that's it. That's what I need to do. Dig deep, cause scars._ Sitting up, Chloé stretched out her will, forming a good sized mirror in front of her. She looked a mess, her hair in disarray, her face a mass of tears and snot, but her reflection wasn't what she wanted to see. It was partially concealed behind her, so more mirrors, different mirrors, showing reflections of reflections of reflections, until she could see it all. It was a monstrosity, because of what it meant. But it was so... beautiful. Rich wooden panels, intricately painted, carved in sweeping curves and inlaid with gold and mother-of pearl, set off with the incredibly dense ornamentation the Rococo style was known for. Underneath it all, the wood grain swooped and whorled, always in motion in the way it could only be here, by turns revealing and obscuring tantalizing (terrific) shapes, a depth belied by the superficiality of the ornamentation.

It terrified her, but she sat there, staring at it, until the ladybugs came.

Because it was far less terrifying than what Mme. Bustier had said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeeeeah... Chloe's pretty messed up. We'll see how that works out.


	4. Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for bearing with me. As thanks, I give you a double sized chapter!
> 
> Chekov's note on usage: Years ago I read an article about the French being in an uproar because something like 80% of their TV was from America, and they were saturated to the point that defendants in French courts were calling the judge "Your Honor" instead of the proper "Mr. President."

Alya had tried to stay away. Her instinct, when her network alerted her to an akuma attack, was to charge in and get a good look at (and hopefully good footage of) the akuma. But she'd held back, a half-remembered dream sending her fleeing down the street, away from the danger. And so she had tried to stay away.

Her efforts were in vain, though, because this time the akuma came to her. Paralyzed by fear at the sight of its groping metallic tentacles and rubbery skin, she was caught in the swath of syrup it poured down the street. Choking on the confection, she saw a flash of red and tried to cry out, to get Ladybug's attention, but it was too late; she was encased in the candy amber. Drowning in the sweetness, she felt it pour into her mouth, her nose, her lungs... and then the light that was Alya Césaire flickered out and faded away. Her last thought was that she was vaguely embarrassed to be killed by an akuma that called itself Gummi Squid.

Alya had stayed away. Her instinct, when she'd first awakened here, was to seek Chloé out. But she'd held back, still wary of how she might once again be the target of Chloé's wrath. And so, she had stayed away.

Yet... as wary as she was, as hurt as she was, she was worried for Chloé. Will is Queen here, she remembered, and so she had willed herself a way to check in on her friend, a video feed on her omnipresent phone. She could hear someone in the background, saying the most terrible things about Chloé; it sounded like she was hearing one half of a conversation, and it made her mad to hear someone abusing her friend like that.

 _Well_.

It still felt weird, to consider Chloé a friend, but Alya couldn't deny it any longer. Here, at least, they were friends. Well, they had been. Would still be, if Alya could forgive her. If Chloé would let herself be forgiven. From what Alya had seen, it seemed like that was going to be the hard part.

Alya continued to watch. She felt a pang of anger when her name was used to hurt Chloé, and it was clear that it did. She felt a deep, vicarious sorrow when the subject of Chloé's mother (and her mother's suicide?!) came up, and revulsion at the idea that whoever her visitor was would use it to that effect. She was relieved when Chloé banished the visitor, and worried again when she built her mirror wall, but she remained the passive observer, watching... but not interfering.

When the ladybugs came for them, she was more relieved than she'd ever been in her life.

* * *

Lunch time. Alya liked lunch time. If she was lucky, she could doze enough that she'd be okay for afternoon classes. If she was really lucky, Marinette would invite her over for lunch and a nap, and she'd actually be awake all afternoon. She was so busy fantasizing about Marinette's bed that she didn't realize her friend was talking to her. _Shoot. Say something so it looks like you were listening!_

"Sorry, what was that?" _Brilliant. That will deflect all suspicion, for sure._

"Alya, are you all right?" Marinette's concern was palpable. Her BFF had been seriously off her game for almost two weeks now, dozing off in class, barely updating the Ladyblog, missing out on akuma attacks... it was like she has suddenly developed an addiction issue. Or a secret identity... _naaaah, I'd have known if that were the case, right? I'd have seen another superhero bouncing around Paris. Right? Right?!_ Marinette's brain threw out scenario after scenario, but it each one boiled down to one of those two: Drug habit or superhero. She didn't know how to cope with either of those possibilities; she just kept thinking of new scenarios, each more outlandish than the last. Marinette's mental vapor-lock was only broken when Chloé walked up to the table she and Alya were sharing. Preparing herself for the worst, she was completely flustered when Chloé bypassed her, instead reaching down to shake Alya out of her stupor.

"You've had trouble sleeping." It wasn't a question.

"How-how do you know that?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not blind, you know, and you're not very good at hiding it." Adjusting her dark glasses with one hand, Chloé reached into her bag with the other and fished out a small plastic bottle, which she set down in front of Alya. "Here. Take half of one of these before you go to bed. It'll stop you from dreaming, so you can just sleep. But don't tell anyone you got them from me." And with that, she was gone; the whole thing had taken less than a minute, and Marinette felt like she'd just watched a drug deal go down. Running it back in her mind, she realized that maybe she had.

Alya, of course, had dozed off again. Marinette poked her, and she woke with a start.

"Marinette! I had the strangest dream... Chloé was talking to me, but like a real person. And she gave me a little bottl..." She trailed off as she saw the pill bottle in front of her, and the frenzied look in Marinette's eyes. "Girl, what's wrong with you?" Marinette finally blinked, and took a deep breath. With conscious effort, she rearranged her face into a serious mask of concern.

"Alya, you're my friend, and you know I love you, and I would never do anything to hurt you. But I'm going to have to take these away from you. I can't let you have them." Alya blinked. _What is going on? Am I still asleep? This dream is even weirder than that last one._

"Okaaaay... Are you all right, Marinette?"

"I'm worried for you, Alya. You're so different these past couple of weeks. You can't stay awake, you mess up your homework or forget it completely, you're not keeping up with your responsibilities, and now Chloé -- Chloé! -- is slipping you drugs! I think you have a problem, Alya. And I'm going to help you fix it." Alya blinked, hard, twice. Realization dawned.

"Are you... Is this an intervention?" Marinette nodded.

"You need help, Alya. Not drugs." Alya's eyes grew wide, and her mouth squnched up to a tiny line. Marinette braced herself for the anger. _God, what if she comes across the table at me? How can I keep from hurting her? I'm a superhero, and she's just a poor strung out kid! Wait... Maybe I'm not a superhero out of costume. How will I keep her from hurting me?_

Of all the possibilities that went through her mind, Alya breaking out in mad peals of laughter wasn't one of them. She did come across the table, though, to wrap Marinette up in a tremendous bear hug.

"Thank you for caring, you sweet delusional girl." Releasing Marinette, Alya leaned back. "But I don't need an intervention, I just need a nap. Tell you what, let's go to your place for lunch. I promise not to take any drugs on the way there."

Chloé watched the pair of them leave the courtyard, dropping the pill bottle in the trash on the way out. She considered fishing the bottle out of the trash, but gave up on it as too conspicuous. Besides, those had stopped working for her weeks ago. _Why do I even care what she does? It must be because I'm so tired_. She unconsciously rubbed at the itch on her side; she'd misjudged that one, and it was neither under her bra nor outside it, but ran right under the edge of the band. It was the same sort of irritating, low-level annoyance that Alya was supposed to be. She stopped rubbing when she realized what she was doing, grateful that no one seemed to have noticed. That was the one advantage to being the class's alpha bitch; most people only paid you enough attention to make sure you weren't coming for them. She sighed and turned back to her highly caffeinated lunch.

* * *

_She's not going to come._

_Good._

_Maybe that means she showed some sense for once and found someplace safe._

_No, that's ridiculous. She'd never do that; she's like a moth to a flame._

_She's probably avoiding me. With good reason. I'd avoid me too, if I could_.

Chloé sat alone in the white room, curled up in a ball, her arms around her legs and her head resting on her knees. She was disheveled, her hair loose and tangled, and she was still clad in her caul. This was the third akuma attack that Alya had missed; the third attack that Chloé had spent in exile.

_God, I wish she was here._

A part of her recognized how awful that thought was; after all, she'd literally wished a girl was dead, just so she could have her company. Another part, a more insistent (and lonelier) part, didn't care. Alya was many things, but Chloé had begun to realize just how special it had been to have someone else here to talk to, someone who understood what she was going through. She could summon a visitor, but they could only repeat your own thoughts back to you. Although that could be a valuable tool, she'd been avoiding doing it for fear of another visitor like Mme. Bustier. A coil of fear gripped her belly at the memory.

 _Well_.

That was another matter she was avoiding, what Mme. Bustier had said. Alya had been so insistent that all she needed to do was talk to someone, divulge her deepest, darkest secrets, and she'd feel better, but Mme. Bustier had laid her open, flayed her with the truth, and it didn't help. If anything, it hurt more. She couldn't think, couldn't sleep for fear that those memories would return, and every time she closed her eyes, they did. For four days, her eyelids had just been the velvet curtain on The Death of Chloé's Mother, lifting every time she closed them... so she had stopped closing them. In fact, it was possible that the reason she was here was because her heart had burst from all the caffeine she'd been consuming; she couldn't remember anything in the last moments of her life that would point to a particular cause of death, so who knew? _That would be ironic, wouldn't it._

Then she was there, leaning shoulder to shoulder against her. Curled in her own little ball, like a pecan sitting next to a macadamia nut. But she had come. Chloé started to weep silent tears. She had come.

Alya turned her head to face her friend.

"I'm sorry." Just two little words, but they cut Chloé clean to the core.

"Go away." Just two little words, but they stung Alya like a nest of hornets.

"No," Alya said, her voice calm and measured. Controlled. "Not this time. You can glare at me, or rage at me, or even show me my Door again, if you want, but I'm going to be here. Because you need me." In a smaller voice, barely more than a whisper, Alya added "... and because I need you." Chloé turned her head to look Alya in the face. She had stopped crying, but the tear tracks were still plainly visible. Steeling herself, Alya continued on. "You know what I mean. Too much time here alone and you start to go crazy. And that means night terrors and exhaustion in the other place, and maybe taking that last step, here. So I need you, and you need me.

"Thank you, by the way. For the pills, I mean." Chloé just snorted. It was derisive, perfectly timed, and perfectly Chloé.

"Why thank me? You just threw them away. It's not like they actually helped." She turned her head away again, looking straight out at the vast, white nothing in front of her. Alya paused a moment, considering her response.

"True, but it was a nice gesture, and I appreciated it." She paused again, considering. "Well, I appreciate it now, at least. I'm sorry I wasn't more grateful then." Chloé didn't reply, and the silence stretched taut. Alya finally broke it.

"I'm sorry about a lot of things recently." Chloé's head swiveled back to face her.

"So what, you expect me to be your confessor, to absolve you of your sins?" The mockery in Chloé's voice was plain, cold, and dispassionate. Alya turned away from her friend's gaze, and dropped her head to her knees.

"No... Well, not really. I- I hope that you will forgive me, though." Alya could hear Chloé's eyes rolling.

"For what? Not realizing that I was trying to help you with your night terrors? What about our relationship would make that a reasonable assumption? We're only friends when we're here." Chloé sighed and faced forward again. "At least, we were." She felt, rather than saw, Alya wither beside her.

"I ran, Chloé. I ran away when you needed me, and I stayed away. And then that horrible woman said those awful things..." Chloé's head snapped around.

"What things?" _How could she... no, she couldn't._

"When... when I came back, last time, I stayed away again, because I was afraid of you. But I was afraid for you, too... and I saw what happened with that awful woman. She said everyone hated you. She called you worthless... she said your moth-” Alya was so surprised by the slap that it laid her out. Chloé stood over her, fire in her eyes, hand back and ready to strike again. Her features had changed, becoming sharper, fiercer, homlier, and she was covered head to toe in hundreds of tiny cuts, each one weeping bright red blood.

"DON'T YOU EVER SPEAK OF MY MOTHER! Don't-” slap "-you-” slap "-DARE!" Alya cowered, and the blows kept coming, fists and open hands falling again and again, accompanied by inarticulate sounds of rage that gradually devolved into sobs as Chloé collapsed on her. A moment of shock passed as Alya processed what had happened. Then she sat up and wrapped her arms around the weeping girl, pulling her into her lap, rocking her, rubbing her back, and making soothing noises. Slowly, the sobs subsided.

"It's okay, Chloé, it's okay." _Man, she's really messed up._ "It's just this place, trying to mess with you. What that woman said isn't true. She's a liar. Just a liar." Unexpectedly, Chloé pushed Alya away, curling up into a tight little ball. She had changed again and looked even more different, like a child, and her voice was a child's whisper.

"You don't understand." Alya waited for more, but it didn't come.

"What don't I understand? Please, Chloé, tell me." Alya put her hand on Chloé's shoulder, but Chloé shrugged it off.

"What that woman said... It's true. All of it." It was Alya's turn to snort. Chloé turned narrowed eyes toward her. "What do you know? She was right. I'm a horrible, terrible, worthless person. The only friend I can keep is so afraid of being alone that she'll endure the mountains of abuse I heap on her. Even then, I have to pay her off- I have to buy her pretty things to keep her coming back. Because if I don't then she'll leave, and I'll be the one who's alone." God, why am I telling her this? Chloé could feel the cracks starting to show; in this place, the feeling was literal, and Alya saw a fine spiderweb race across Chloé's skin, marring her child's face.

"That's not true, Chloé. It's that," Alya said, pointing at Chloé's Door. "That's trying to make you give up. It's trying to get you to step across that threshold, to cross into the void. But you're too strong for it. I know it."

"You don't know anything."

"I know that you're my friend." Chloé turned her head away, but Alya reached out and took her chin, turning it back to look her in the eyes. Fine flakes of Chloé's skin drifted off, leaving a raw redness behind. "Yes, you're my friend. I may not remember that most of the time, but I know it, deep down in here." She touched the center of her chest, right over her heart. "And I know you do, too. And I know that you're in pain, Chloé, the sort of deep, defining pain that will grow and grow until it takes over your life. Or ends it." Alya focused, and took a deep breath. If nothing else, it was important that Chloé knew this next part was sincere. "I couldn't stand for that to happen, so please let me help." Chloé tensed, her form shifting back to a more normal state as she turned her head away from Alya again. With a sigh, she dropped her head to her knees. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper emanating from her core.

"I thought that your sharp journalist's mind would have put it together, but I guess not." Alya's brow furrowed in confusion, but before she could ask what that meant, Chloé continued. "Mme. Bustier was just a visitor. She wasn't a real person, just a reflection of me. So everything she said..."

"...Is what you think about yourself." Alya's heart broke as the realization of what that meant dawned on her. Chloé thought... "It's still not true, you know."

"Which part? The part where I'm a terrible human being? The part where I'm so worthless that I have to buy friendship and affection? Or maybe the part where my mother hated me so much that she killed herself to get away from me? She cut her own wrists, you know, right in front of me. Apparently, the women in my family have an affinity for razors." A chill ran through Alya as the true significance of Mme. Bustier's word came clear.

  
"You're wrong, Chloé. You're not worthless, girl, not to me, and I think you know that." _How can I make her realize... Oh_. An idea came to her. It was kind of gruesome, but it should be effective. It would be impossible anywhere else - but here, Will was Queen. _Yeah, that ought to work. If I can do it. As long as I have the willpower to do it..._ "Here, let me prove it to you." Alya unbuttoned her shirt, then steeled herself and pried open her sternum. Reaching into her chest, Alya pulled out her own beating heart and showed it to Chloé. It wasn't a particularly bloody affair, since Alya's heart looked just like the illustration in their science text, with one difference: Inscribed on her heart were names, some that Chloé recognized, some that she did not. Chloé's own name stood out, written in gold, right between Marinette, Adrien, and Nino's names. "These are the people I love, Chloé. My family and the deepest friends of my heart. The people I trust implicitly. And one of them is you."

"But you still think I'm a terrible person." Alya considered a moment; should she take the risk? She decided she would.

"Well," she started, "the jury's still out in that one. But I'm happy to hear your evidence, one way or another."

Silence. Alya's heart stopped. _Oh my god... What if I guessed wrong?_ But after a very long moment, the Chloé-ball started shaking, then honest to god laughing.

"Very well, Madame President. However, may I have a recess to prepare?" A lone red-and-black beetle settled on Chloé's head, and Alya smiled with relief.

"Granted."

Then the wave of ladybugs took them both.

* * *

Alya felt like a completely different person. Last night, for the first time in weeks, she'd slept through the night, with no trace of the nightmares. She was still tired, but just normal-didn't-sleep-enough tired, not omigod-I'm-gonna-die tired. Marinette was still in overprotective mode; although she'd stopped checking Alya's food and drink for drugs, she had constantly been by Alya's side the past few days. They'd spent so much time together that someone had even started a rumor that they were dating, but as far as she knew, no one was taking it seriously.

"So what do you think that was between Chloé and Sabrina this morning?" Alya brought her drifting mind back to the conversation at hand, and shrugged her shoulders. Whatever it was, it had gotten them both expelled from the class; Sabrina had returned mid-morning, but Chloé was still gone when class let out for lunch.

"I don't know. Maybe they had another fight. You know Chloé, always on a hair-trigger." Marinette smiled at that.

"Is that for everyone? I thought she reserved that for me." Before Alya could comment, she saw Chloé across the courtyard. She was looking for someone, and apparently it was Marinette and Alya.

"Well, here she comes. You can ask her yourself."

* * *

 

Chloé felt like a completely different person. She had fallen asleep last night, despite her efforts not to, but the dreams hadn't come. She'd woken in the morning with a new course of action in mind: No more lies. She'd decided to start this morning by making things right with Sabrina.

It had been a disaster.

In her head, it had all gone so smoothly: She apologized for being a bad friend, and promised to be better; Sabrina forgave her, and everything was right with the world. When she'd started talking this morning, all Sabrina had heard was "I'm not your friend, and I never was." She hadn't heard "but I'd really like to be, so can we start over?" It had taken two hours to calm her down enough that Chloé could get her point across, calm enough that she could apologize, and even then Sabrina's answer was that she "had to think about it." Still, even if Sabrina decided she didn't want to be Chloé's friend, it would be better than the lie the last few years had been. At least that way they could both get a fresh start.

Chloé desperately hoped the answer wouldn't be no.

Still, it had been hard. Chloé wasn't used to being rejected, and it hurt, a lot; she'd spent the rest of the morning hiding in a stall in the girl's bathroom, turning her little cardboard box of razors over and over in her hand. By the time she finally came to the realization that she wasn't going to use them, it was time for lunch, so she slunk out into the courtyard, scanning it to make sure she didn't run into Sabrina, or anyone else she wanted to avoid. Turns out that was just about everyone.... Except for Alya. Before she realized it, she was walking toward the Ladyblogger. Marinette was, of course, petrified when she realize Chloé was behind her, but Alya was wearing a small smile, rather than her usual scowl.

"Marinette, I need to speak to Alya privately, please." Shock and disbelief washed across the girls' faces; had Chloé Bourgeois just said "please"? To them? Alya blinked a couple of times before nodding slowly.

"Uh... Sure, Chloé. Marinette, can you give me a minute? I'll catch up to you at your place." Marinette gave Chloé the side-eye as she slid out of her seat.

"You sure, Alya?" Chloé tensed, but Alya just nodded. Chloé exhaled; she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.

"Yeah, girl, I'm sure. I'll just be a couple minutes." Satisfied, Marinette hitched up her bag and headed out the door. Alya turned to Chloé, who had taken her friend's seat. "What can I help you with, Chloé?"

Chloé took a deep breath and steeled herself, then opened her palm and dropped the box of razor blades onto the table. 

"I need you to keep these for me." Alya raised an eyebrow at that, but it was nothing compared to her surprise at what Chloé said next.

"And... and, I want to tell you about my mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have it. There's still an epilogue and omake to come, including the Trousers of Time ending I originally had in mind. I hope it has been as fun for you to read as it was for me to write.


	5. Epilogue

In the end, it turned out that Alya was right: Opening up about her problems really helped Chloé. Every Thursday, they would have lunch at a café far enough away to be private, but close enough that they could talk for a while and not risk being late for afternoon classes; Chloé tried to never miss one of their "therapy sessions," even after she started seeing a real therapist. She never knew why she felt so comfortable talking to Alya, and for her part, Alya never shared Chloé's secrets; that trust became the foundation of a life-long friendship. There were, of course, bumps, along the way...

* * *

Marinette was angry, stomping around her room and flailing her arms as Alya lounged on the chaise, watching the display.

"I can't believe her! For years she's made my life hell! She constantly throws herself at my boyfriend!" That earned a snerk from Alya, who received a Deathly Glare in return. "Okay, fine, maybe he's not my boyfriend. But that's only because I get so discombobulated around him!" Alya nodded.

"You're totally right, girl. The only thing standing in your way is your utter inability to form a coherent sentence when he's around." _Ouch. I hope that didn't sound as mean to her as it did to me_. Marinette sputtered for a moment before getting back on track.

"This isn't about me, this is about her. Aaaaaaalya! She's trying to steal you away from me!" Alya rolled her eyes and sighed.

"No, Marinette, you're right." Marinette puffed up proudly at that. "It's not about you, it's about her. She just needs someone to talk to, and for whatever reason, I'm the only one she feels comfortable with." Alya could see the wind going out of Marinette's sails.

"Why does it have to be you? Why can't she talk with Sabrina?" she asked, her tone more petulant than angry now. Alya watched the ball work its way through the pachinko machine of Marinette's brain. The anger on her face gave way to realization, which was quickly washed away by regret. "Oh, right." It had been almost six weeks since Chloé and Sabrina had had their big fight, and they hadn't spoken since. Sabrina had even changed seats in class; now she was sharing a desk with Nathanaël, way in the back. It looked like their friendship was well and truly over. Alya might very well be the _only_ person that would talk to Chloé these days. Defeated by her own words, Marinette slumped down onto the chaise. Alya sat up and wrapped her arm around her BFF.

"Look, girl, you don't have to worry about me. You're stuck with me; you'll have to put up with me until the day I die. Chloé's not going to seduce me away from you." Marinette smiled a little at that. "But she really needs help right now. I know you guys have a history, but... Look at it this way. How many akuma has Chloé been responsible for?" Marinette did a quick count; about a third of the akuma Ladybug and Cat Noir had fought were people that Chloé had humiliated. "Now who was the last person she turned into an akuma? It's been weeks. This streak is unprecedented. And do you know why?" Marinette nodded, then turned to her friend. Alya could see that pachinko ball going again.

"It's because you are being her friend, so she's not lashing out as much." Marinette's eyes lit up with something unidentifiable. "Alya, you are a genius. This was your plan all along? To beat Chloé... by being her friend?" The glint in Marinette's eye was unsettling. "You are diabolical." _Ah, what? What does she think... y'know, never mind, I'm just going to roll with it. Two birds, one stone, etc._ So Alya rolled with it.

"Yep, that's totally it," she said, leaning closer and putting on a conspiratorial smile. "Wanna help? All you have to do is be Chloé's friend..."

"Okay, I'm in." _Wow. That was totally easier than I thought it would be. Now if I can just get Chloé to go along with it, too..._

* * *

Alya arrived still gagging and choking. Dying didn't usually affect her that badly, but some deaths were just... gross. Chloé didn't stir from her "sunbathing"; she lifted her sunglasses, but was otherwise unconcerned.

"What happened to you?" she asked. Alya continued to cough, then switched to retching a little before she managed to pull herself together.

"Ugh. You will not believe how I just died! Stupid akuma suffocated me in facial hair." Chloé suppressed a shudder as she sat up, peering at her friend.

"Ew, facial hair? What was he called, Big Mustachio?" Chloé smiled a little at the memory the name recalled.

"Um... yeah, actually. How'd you know?"

Blink. Blink.

Chloé facepalmed. _Dammitdammitdammit. I was doing so well..._

* * *

"Um... hello, Chloé."

Chloé was surprised, but she was enough her father's daughter that she didn't let it show. Instead, she took a deep breath, closed her locker, and turned to the other girl. Nervousness coiled through her belly, but she hid it behind a politician's smile.

"Why hello, Sabrina. It's certainly been a long time. What can I do for you?" Chloé had to forcing a joviality she didn't really feel, but it wasn't keeping her stomach from doing flip-flops. She and Sabrina hadn't really left things in a good place, after all. But Sabrina had certainly changed in the last two years; she looked different, her posture and body language betraying nervousness, but none of the subservience it used to. "You've changed your hair. I like i... I mean, it looks good on you." _Remember, it's not about you, it's about her. Give her room to talk._ To Chloé's dismay, Sabrina looked flustered by the compliment and averted her gaze. A moment stretched into an awkward silence before Sabrina spoke again.

"Th-thank you. A friend suggested it." Another moment passed in silence, not quite as long, before she sighed and looked up at Chloé again. "Chloé... I wanted to say thank you, for letting Alya write that article about you." Chloé's smile wavered a little, but she clamped down on it. _How can she know?_

"I'm flattered, Sabrina, but you're thanking the wrong person. You should be thanking that Aimée girl, not me. It's her story." Chloé could feel sweat trickling down her back. That was totally believable. Please believe it. This time it was Sabrina's turn to be dismayed, and she broke eye contact again.

"Aw, damn it, this isn't how this was supposed to go." Chloé was a bit surprised at Sabrina's language. She'd never been that coarse when they were friends... had she? She couldn't remember. Further thoughts on the matter were derailed when Sabrina looked up again, her face a mask of determination. It was a look that Chloé was unfamiliar with, but not... Unappealing. Very not unappealing.

_Well._

_Guess I'll be talking to Dr. Théo about **that** this week_.

"Look, Chloé, I'm not here to threaten you, or out you, or anything like that," Sabrina hissed. She looked around before continuing, waiting to see that no one else was around before she rolled up her sleeve. Chloé was surprised, and aghast, to see the fine network of scars criss-crossing Sabrina's arm; some of them were still pink, and one was still scabbed over. "I really do want to thank you, because by talking about it, you've told me and everyone else who's struggled with this sort of thing that we're not alone. I don't know what it's done for anyone else, but it's given me the strength to ask for help.

"You know, given our history, I thought that there was nothing you could ever do to make me even consider forgiving you, but I was wrong. And I'm glad that I was wrong." Relief flooded through Chloé; feelings she thought she'd buried came rushing to the fore. "If you want to, I'm ready to try and be friends again." Chloé was elated, over the moon.

Which is why, instead of saying yes, she did something really stupid.

* * *

"You kissed her?" Mme. Coccinelle asked. Chloé fixed the puppet with a withering glare.

"No, but I tried to. And I really wanted to." No matter how hard one tries, one can never stare down a puppet. _That's damn inconsiderate of you, Mme. Coccinelle_ , she thought, turning her head back to the ceiling. "I mean, _really_ wanted to. Doctor, what does that mean?" Dr. Théo put down the puppet, but kept her close at hand in case she was needed.

"Well, Chloé, it could mean a lot of things. Are you concerned about it?"

"I... I don't know. I mean... No, I just don't know. That's why I need you to tell me what it means." Dr. Théo let her answer hang in the air for a moment while he considered his best response. Discussions of teenage sexuality were tricky, even under the best of circumstances, and Chloé Bourgeois was _never_ the best of circumstances. Finally, he decide on a broad-spectrum, factual approach. Chloé was difficult, but she appreciated the truth, and would not tolerate being coddled.

"Well, Chloé, that's a difficult question to answer. You could have feelings for this girl, or you may have just been reacting to the moment, and either way that's okay. You're a teenager, and that's what teenagers are supposed to do. Sexuality is a difficult topic to discuss, because so much of it is tied to the person having the discussion, but if you find you are attracted to someone, whether man or woman, that's just fine. And anyone who tells you otherwise is lying to you." He took a beat to let that sink in. "So tell me, what do you think?" Chloé scowled, but he could see she had been listening to him. Finally, she sighed and looked at the clock.

"I don't think we have time to go into that today. Can we put it on the list for next time?" Dr. Théo nodded, and Chloé sat up. "Good. There was one other thing I wanted to talk over with you about Sabrina, though." Dr. Théo nodded again.

"Of course. What is it?"

"I gave her your number, but her family probably can't afford for her to see you. Can I pay for part of her sessions? It would have to be a secret, of course." Dr. Théo smiled.

"Of course, of course. Let us work out the arrangement."

* * *

The graduation party, Alya had to admit, had been a great idea. Chloés dad had let her host it in the hotel's restaurant, Alya's mom had provided the food, and Marinette's parents had provided a fantastic cake. Everyone had been Invited, and everyone had come; after all, they were all graduating, why shouldn't they celebrate? Yes, the planning and execution of the party had been flawless, but the akuma attack in the middle had been... unanticipated. Which was why she and Chloé were standing in front of a cake with the back half of a Citroën sticking out of it, spattered in frosting. Everyone else had scattered, but they were frozen in place. They could still see occasional flashes of red and black as the fight outside progressed.

"Alya, are you okay?" Chloé asked, in a somewhat dazed voice. Something seemed... wrong, but she wasn't injured.

"Yeah... Yeah, I think so. You?" Alya could feel it too; something was off, but she couldn't put her finger on what it actually was.

"Yes, although my dress is ruined. Do you think that the Ladybug thing does dry-cleaning?" Alya's head slowly rotated to face her friend, and stared at her for just a moment before the laughter started. Once it had gotten hold of her, she couldn't stop it, and it quickly infected Chloé, too. By the time the akuma was defeated, they were lying on the floor, quivering piles that used to be teenagers, but now were nothing more than frosting and giggles.

As it turned out, "the Ladybug thing" did quite a good job of dry-cleaning Chloé's dress.

* * *

"Come on, girl! Hold that bottle steady. This is it, the final battle! We need champagne to celebrate this." Chloé wasn't sure about this. Alya stood an arm's length away, holding a bare cavalry saber; Chloé held the bottle of champagne. Intellectually, she knew that Alya couldn't actually harm her here; after all, to even be here they had to have already died. Still, she flinched every time Alya raised the saber to swing. Resigned, Chloé sighed and closed her eyes, holding the bottle out as far from her body as she could. There was a tug and a sharp crack, and when Chloé opened her eyes the champagne was flowing. And all of my pieces are still attached. Wonder of wonders!

"See?" Alya said. "No problem. Here." Chloé took the offered flute, and raised it in a toast.

"Here's to no more Hawk Moth!"

"To no more akuma!"

"To no more being flung off the Tower!" It had happened again. Hawk Moth himself had just dropped her over the side. Chloé wasn't sure if she was insulted or flattered, but one thing was sure: She'd had enough of that damn tower.

"Unless Hawk Moth wins, of course," Alya said, sipped her champagne. Chloé thought about that for a moment, then turned her head just enough to catch a glance of it.

"No, even if he doesn't..." The thought seemed to occur to them both at the same time, and put a damper on the mood. If Hawk Moth won, there would be no wave of ladybugs to bring them back... They sat in silence for a long moment, forgotten champagne effervescing away, before Chloé sidled over next to Alya and put her arm around her friend.

"Well, it looks like this is the last time we'll be here, either way." She looked around at the empty, white space. "You know, I think I'm actually going to miss it, in a way." Alya snerked.

"No you won't," she said, a small smile on her face. "You won't even remember it." Chloé smiled in response. An idea started to form in her head, and her smile grew.

"You're right, as usual. Which means that there's something I need to show you." With a gesture, Chloé's clothing evaporated, exposing her... and uncovering every little scar she had inflicted on herself over the years. "Look how faded they are. That's because of you, Alya Césaire, and I can't tell you how fantastically grateful I am for that." Alya was shocked, although Chloé couldn't tell if it was from her sudden nudity or the extent of her scarring; even though they shared an apartment, Chloé was fiercely protective of her modesty, mostly because she was still so insecure about those scars. Alya knew, but respected her privacy. Their other roommates just thought she was Chloé being Chloé.

"Chloé... I had no idea... I mean, I knew, but I had no idea the extent of it." Chloé just shrugged.

"You know me, Alya. Never anything by half measures. But this is only part of it." Placing her hands in the middle of her chest, Chloé dug her fingers into her sternum and pried it apart, then reached in and pulled out her own heart. Thanks to her pre-med studies, it was a gorier affair than when Alya had done the same thing all those years ago, but Chloé's heart still had names inscribed upon it, and there, right in the middle in gold letters, was the name Alya Césaire. When she looked over at her friend, she saw that Alya was crying, but grinning through the tears.

"Oh, Chloé... I don't think you can know how much that means to me." It looked like she wanted to say more, but the swarm of ladybugs washed away all other sounds with their roar.

* * *

Alya was texting furiously, and swearing under her breath. Sabine was pacing, back and forth. They had long since banished Tom out to greet the guests. Chloé and Manon sat on the little settee, trying to stay out of the way.

"No no no! I've worked too hard on this, it is not going to fall apart at the last minute!" Chloé and Manon shared a glance; Manon shrugged as if to say, what can we do? before returning to the news report she was watching on her phone. Chloé glanced over Manon's shoulder, then walked over and placed an arm on her friend.

"Alya, relax. You don't want to get worked up in that dress, you'll get it all sweaty." Checking to see that neither Sabine nor Manon was paying attention, she mouthed the word akuma, but Alya wasn't paying attention, either, just staring at her phone. "She's probably just locked herself in the bathroom." Turning to Sabine, she put on her best smile. "Mrs. Cheng, would you go and check? I'm certain that if she's nervous, then a mother's advice is the perfect cure." Sabine, grateful for something to direct her energies, took the bait. Chloé ushered her out of the room, then turned back to Alya.

"Look, Alya, it's not like she's running out or anything, that would be ridiculous. She's been in love with Adrien for ten years, so if she was going to change her mind, it wouldn't be today." A small smile came to her lips as she remembered last night's bachelorette party. "Besides, after last night, I don't think she's capable of running." Chloé's reminiscence was was interrupted by a strangled, snarling sound that Alya made.

"WHAT?!?" Alya stared at her phone for a moment, then pressed the call button and put it up to her ear. "Okay, Nino, what do you mean 'Adrien's gone too'? Where did he go?" A pause. "He 'got away from you'? How did he get away from you?" Another pause. "I don't care that he's been shaking professional bodyguards for years! No, this is not about how I lost Marinette. This is about ten years, TEN YEARS, LAHIFFE!, of planning going down the drain." Another pause, then all the color drained from Alya's face. Chloé was suddenly worried. She waved her hand in front of Alya's face, but got no response.

"Alya? Alya, what's the matter?" She could hear Nino's voice, with the same concern in it, coming from the suddenly forgotten phone. Snatching it up, Chloé snarled into it "What did you say, Lahiffe?" as she guided Alya to a seat.

"Oh, uh, hi Chloé." Nino sounded worried. "I just said that maybe Adrien and Marinette had decide to elope, instead, and that when that happened, the best man and maid of honor were supposed to get married instead."

"What else?" There was a moment's hesitation before Nino responded. I knew it!

"Uh, I may have said that it sounded like a good idea to me." Chloé could hear the nervousness in his voice, and she had to stifle a laugh as she realized what had happened.

"Nino... did you just propose to Alya?" Manon cocked her head at that. I'll have to remember that she's more observant than she looks. Alya, though, was still white as a sheet, practicing her thousand-yard stare. Unflappable Alya was thoroughly flapped.

"Uh... yeah, I think I did. Does... does she look like she's going to say yes?"

"Nino, I think she'll have to call you back."

* * *

The ceremony went flawlessly, once the bride and groom were found. They both apologized profusely for the delay, claiming nerves. Alya was still a bit flustered by Nino's proposal, and rambled well off-script through her toast, finally ending with "I do!", which both Nino and Chloé took as a good sign. As the night wore on, the crowd thinned out, until Chloé found herself sitting alone at a table with Manon. The fifteen-year-old looked disgustingly fresh, considering how much dancing she'd been doing. _Youth is truly wasted on the young._

"Oh come on, Mme. Bo... Chloé. It's not like twenty-five is old, or anything." _Damn it, did I say that out loud? I must be more tired than I thought_. "That's all right, it's been kind of a tiring day." Chloé groaned and leaned down on the table.

"Fine, I'm just not going to think any more. What do you want, Manon?" The teenager pulled out a notepad and pen; Chloé had no idea where she'd been hiding it in her bridesmaid's dress.

"I'm doing a piece for the school blog, about famous alumni. I was hoping that I could ask you a few questions." Chloé shrugged.

"Okay, but I'm not getting up." Manon smiled, and started in on the questions. They were pretty mundane to start, but then Manon opened up with the big guns. Chloé hadn't realized she'd fallen into the trap until it closed around her. The kid was good, but so was Chloé, and what had started as a simple interview quickly turned into an immensely interesting game of cat and mouse... especially after she figured out Manon's endgame. Chloé turned away every line of questioning, but every deflection became a new avenue of attack, and she loved every moment of it. Chloé hadn't had this kind of work-out since her psych classes, and she found she was disappointed when Manon reached her ultimate question.

"When did you figure out who Ladybug is?" Chloé let the question hang in the air as she sipped her long-forgotten champagne, pretending to think.

"When I was at University. When did you figure it out?" Manon's satisfied smirk turned to shock. "You're good, kid, but so am I. As the Americans say, you can't play a player." Another sip. "Just answer the question."

"I've known since I was six." Chloé managed not to shoot champagne out her nose, but just barely.

* * *

"Alya, you're going to have to put the phone down. Otherwise, I'm going to stick you with one of these pins."

"Accidentally, of course?" Chloé chimed in. She and Alya both took note that Marinette didn't respond. _She's just concentrating on her work_ , Chloé thought. _She's not really threatening to stab Alya... is she?_ Apparently, Alya wasn't so confident, because she held her phone out to Chloé, who set it down on the table. As she did so, the phone warbled, which made Alya jump, which got her stuck with a pin, which made her jump again.

"I warned you," said Marinette, apologetically. "That thing's going to kill you one day." Alya waved her off.

"I can't help it, I've got a business to run. You're lucky I could get away for this fitting." Chloé snickered as she pointed around the room.

"Alya, we're in a conference room at your office. You didn't get away from anything." Picking up Alya's phone, she read the alert that had gotten Alya stuck. "Akuma alert? Oh no. Marinette, do you have to go?" Both Alya and Chloé turned to look at Marinette, but Chloé noticed it first. "Wait... where are your earrings?"

"I-I had to give them up," she said. "After all, I can risk my life, but I ca..." She trailed off as she saw the shocked and delighted looks on her friends' faces. They were smart women; had figured it out.

"Girl, are you saying you're... pregnant?!" Marinette blushed down to her toes, but nodded yes. "When were you going to tell us?"

"Well, I was going to wait until after the fitting, because I didn't think I'd be getting anything done once I told you."

And she was right.

* * *

"No, this was the whole reason I divorced him! Dammit, can't you at least give me something? Really? Get remarried? Gaah, what am I even paying you for?!" As she ended the call, Alya looked over at her friends, who were still a little shocked by her outburst. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to calm down before she apologized.

"I'm sorry about that. It's my stupid accountants, and the stupid government. This new tax law is crazy." Chloé stirred her drink before taking a sip, and putting on her therapist-face.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Alya. Is it something you'd like to talk about?" Alya opened her mouth to start talking, but Marinette ruined it when she giggled. Alya's eyes narrowed as she scowled at Chloé, but they were shining with laughter underneath.

"I don't need you to shrink my head, Chloé."

"That's too bad," Chloé replied, sipping her drink. "I brought the puppets and everything. Let me know if you change your mind." Marinette's giggles turned to guffaws; she'd seen this dance often (participated a few times, too), but it was never not funny. Chloé broke first, joining in the laughter, shortly followed by Alya. Once the laughter subsided, though, Alya turned serious.

"Thanks, girls, I needed that. A little laughter to help me deal with how incredibly screwed I am." Alya's head dropped towards the table. "I hate this government." Marinette, always the conscientious friend, took the bait.

"What's happening?" She knew full well that although Alya and Nino were technically divorced, it hadn't actually affected their relationship; in all ways, shapes, and forms, they were still married, except legally. They even still shared a house, and a bed. Divorcing been strictly a business decision.

"The government wants to screw me over. They want to impose a penalty on me if I don't keep a certain percentage of my assets inside the French economy, but my network is world-wide. I'm not even close to the line."

"So why don't you remarry Nino?" asked Chloé. "Wouldn't that fix it?" Alya shook her head, scratching the table with her glasses.

"Normally, but the past few years, almost all of Nino's income has been from work outside of France. That's why we got divorced in the first place; no taxes on alimony payments." Chloé scratched her chin.

"So, you need to immediately shift a large portion of your assets to French soil. Which isn't practical, given your business model. Getting married would be effective, but you can't get married to Nino, because his assets won't effect the appropriate change." Chloé leaned back and stirred her drink again. "The solution is clear, Alya. You need to marry someone with a large portfolio that happens to be here in France. Maybe someone who owns a bank, or a string of franchise restaurants..."

"Or a luxury hotel," Marinette chipped in. Chloé nodded.

"Right, or a luxury hotel. That would be a good one, especially if there's more than one hotel." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Chloé saw the trap. It was reflected in Marinette's shimmering eyes and barely suppressed grin. _Did they plan this? Or is Marinette just getting more devious in her old age?_ The confused look on Alya's face pointed towards the latter, but when she caught on, a sly grin grew across her face.

"Why, Chloé Bourgeois, are you proposing marriage to me?" Chloé took a moment to finish her cocktail before answering.

"Yes, it appears I am. But only on the condition that I get Marinette as my matron of honor; you've already had her."

* * *

Chloé was watching the morning news when it was interrupted by a press conference by the head of the network. Her face was familiar, but lined with the stress of running a major news network; every time Chloé saw her, she was was struck by how old she looked now. Even though the years had been kind to her, Manon was well into her seventies now, and it was starting to show. Rumor was that she had already picked her successor, and was grooming him to take over soon. Louis Agreste-Dupain-Cheng had much of his parents in him, and much of his favorite aunt, too. He would do a good job. And it may be soon; Manon looked a kind of weary that she rarely saw.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that our beloved founder, Alya Césaire-Lahiffe, has suffered a severe stroke. While she is currently stable, the prognosis is not good." Manon continued on, but Chloé didn't hear it; all she heard was her own heartbeat, pounding in her ears. _No, not Alya!_ Moment's later, her phone rang. Stilled stunned, she almost missed the call.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Aunt Chloé? It's Louis. I'm afraid I have bad news..." Chloé didn't hear most of the details; the only important thing was where Alya was. Louis gave her the name of the hospital and the room number, and told her that he'd all ready arranged to have a car pick her up. She hung up the phone, feeling numbness spread through her limbs.

The chauffeur was efficient and discreet... The whole trip passed in a blur, and then she was standing in front of a door, and full of foreboding. No, not foreboding... Terror. Alya was on the other side of that door, but she couldn't open it. Her heart screamed at her, but she just stood there until she felt a hand slip into her own. She turned to see Marinette beside her, a kind smile on her wrinkled face.

"Shall we go in?" Chloé squeezed her hand, and together they stepped into the room. It wasn't a typical hospital room; all of the diagnostic equipment was hidden, so except for the adjustable bed, it looked like a normal bedroom. Alya lay in the bed, seemingly asleep, but her eyes fluttered open as her friends entered the room. She smiled when she recognized them.

"I'm glad you came," she said. Her words were full of sadness, but not regret. Alya never regretted. She struggled for a moment to sit up, but half her body was limp. Finally, she settled for adjusting the bed into a more dignified position. "Dumb body's giving out on me. I'm afraid I'm not going to make it to the next reunion." After that point, words were useless; they'd known each other long enough that there was no more small talk to make, so the three of them just hugged, and cried.

Finally, other people started arriving; family, mostly, and a few friends, and a few people, like Manon, who were on both sides of the line. Marinette and Chloé eventually said their goodbyes, for the last time, and walked out of the room. Chloé didn't get very far before she had to sit down, and Marinette sat down with her. They sat and stared at each other for a while, remembering when they had been young, fierce rivals. Marinette cracked first, quickly joined by Chloé, and they laughed.

When they settled down, Chloé realized that the tightness in her chest was getting worse, and that her neck was tingling all the way up into her jaw. _Ah, so that's how it's going to be. All right. I suppose I'm ready_. She motioned Marinette to come closer, and whispered to her, as loud as she could manage... she had no breath.

"Marinette... go tell... Alya... that I'll wait... for her." Marinette could see that something was wrong, but Chloé fixed her with her best alpha bitch stare, the one she hadn't dusted off in sixty years. "Tell her... Please." Marinette nodded, and even as Chloé's sight started to dim, she could see the tears rolling down Marinette's face. She was vaguely aware of a commotion, hands on her body, words that must have meant something... and then the light that was Chloé Bourgeois flickered out and faded away.

* * *

* * *

She felt like she was floating. Opening her eyes didn't help; she was in a featureless place, completely suffused by a soft, white light, no detail, no definition, a quiet, meaningless murmur surrounding her. She wasn't actually sure if she had opened her eyes or not, since nothing had changed, but that's how this place was. Nothing was fixed, until it was.

"I am Alya Césaire." It wasn't just her name, here. The words were a trigger, something for her sense of self to connect to, and she felt herself coalesce into her body, her true self, the quintessential Alya-ness that could only ever be discovered here. Now, when she blinked, the blinding whiteness gave way to darkness a bit. It was like looking at a lamp with her eyes closed; she could still see the light, but it was a differentiation, something that she used to orient herself.

She also heard the snort of laughter.

"Who are you kidding? You haven't been Alya Césaire for years, now." The voice was familiar, and Alya turned to see it belonged to an old woman, sitting at one of those ridiculous café tables that were endemic to Paris. She smiled.

"You're just mad because I took Nino's name but not yours." Chloé shrugged nonchalantly. Alya sat herself at the table, picking up the cup of coffee that was waiting there, and took a sip. It was perfect. "You always did think up a mean cup of coffee." A moment passed as they savored the flavor of Platonically ideal coffee, the true coffee of which every other coffee was a mere shadow. "Thank you for waiting for me." Chloé shrugged again.

"I'm in no rush. Besides, I promised you I would; didn't Marinette tell you?"

"She did, although I wasn't really sure what she was talking about. I was pretty out of it, there at the end." Chloé nodded knowingly. "I don't know if you care, but Marinette said that you went quickly. The doctors tried to resuscitate you, but you woudn't come back." Chloé just nodded again, seeing no reason to speak of it. The silence stretched until it was uncomfortably long, until finally Alya broke it.

"I feel sorry for her, you know. She's all alone now." Chloé took a sip of her coffee, then put the cup down.

"Don't be ridiculous. She may be the last of us, but Marinette is hardly alone; she's surrounded by people who love her. And someday, she'll be surrounded by people who love her when she comes to join us. Just like you were." Chloé picked up her cup again, nursing it for a moment before she changed the topic. "Have you noticed? We don't each have our own Door this time. It's strange... And this one's not so scary, is it?"

The Door that Chloé pointed to was quite different, now. It was neither her Rococo monstrosity, nor Alya's technological terror, but a pair of wood and glass doors, set in a stone frame. Carved in the lintel above the door was Collège Françoise-Dupont. The two of them stared at it for a while, conversation lagging, until finally Alya put her cup down on the table.

"Look at us, a pair of old ladies dreaming about our school years. Is that pathetic or what?" Chloé chuckled.

"Well, there's no reason we have to be old ladies, right? Will is Queen here." And in a flash, Alya was her teenaged self again, then Chloé was, as well, but better. For they were themselves as seen through twin lenses of nostalgia and love, and more beautiful and more truly themselves than they had ever been in life. Chloé took Alya's arm in her own, and pointed towards the Door.

"They're all in there waiting for us, all of them but Marinette." Alya nodded.

"Then we shouldn't keep them waiting, should we?" The Door creaked open in invitation.

"It wouldn't be polite."

And then, arm in arm, they left this world together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone. With this the tale is complete, though not necessarily finished. Later this week I'll post the original ending, which inspired the whole story; I think it's ironic that Chloé basically made me write her a better end :)


	6. Omake!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As with any work, there are things that don't make it in to the final version. In this case, I'm giving you the original end (of what was supposed to be a much shorter fic), as well as a couple of scenes that I liked, but never really gelled sufficiently. As a warning, these bits are more raw than my finished work product.
> 
> Enjoy!

_**Trousers of Time ending -** This was the original ending I had planed for this fic. I'm glad that I went another way with it, but though you might be interested in seeing it._

Chloé sat, alone, on the featureless white plain that was this place.

_This is boring._

_How long does it take for somebody... no, for Alya, to get killed in an akuma attack?_

There was a time, not so long ago, when Chloé would have thought that Alya's absence meant that she was avoiding her. Chloé's insecurities had receded since then, though; now, Alya's absence only meant that she had been smart enough, or lucky enough, to avoid dying at the akuma's hands. Of course, that did exactly nothing to relieve her boredom.

Or distract her from It. As if sensing her attention, the Door started to speak to her, Its voice a low, hissing whisper, telling dark lies she feared were true. It had snared her, once, but Alya had helped her break free before she crossed the threshold. They had promised each other then that they would never cross unless all hope was truly gone. The Door tried again and again to lure them, taunt them, threaten them, but they stayed strong. They stayed alive.

It was always hardest, though, when she was alone. The Door knew here deepest fears, her deepest insecurities, and it played them like a virtuoso. To block out the intrusive thoughts, she immersed herself in the white noise of this place, picking out an anomalous tone.

 _Great. Another newbie. At least it's something to do, though_. She concentrated on that note, making it stronger, bringing it closer, until a flesh-colored blob popped into existence in front of her. Another Door formed behind the blob, black glass with gold lettering and trim, the door of the boulangerie across from the school; Chloé stomach sunk as she realized who it was. Reaching out to the blob, she gently grabbed it with both hands.

"Marinette, you're going to be okay."

Hearing her name shocked Marinette into shape. Her bright blue eyes took in her surroundings, and her glowing caul was replaced by Ladybug's red and polka dot suit. It was an interesting glimpse into her psyche.

"Chloé?! What happened? Where are we?" Chloé shrugged nonchalantly, inspecting her nails; she'd always suspected Marinette was hiding some steel behind that mousey nice girl routine. _Guess we'll find out soon enough._

"Oh, we're nowhere. That's what happens when you die." Marinette was much quicker on the pickup than Alya had been, but she seemed to be taking it well.

"You're taking this awful well. What are you not telling me?" Chloé smirked. _Soooooo many things..._

"It's like I said, Marinette, we're dead. Killed in akuma attack," Marinette made a strange face, equal parts confusion and fear. "Don't worry, it's just temporary. We'll just hang out here until Ladybug beats it, and she'll bring us back like she always does." Marinette dropped to the floor, like a puppet with her strings cut. Looks like I was wrong about the steel... Chloé sat down next to her, and put a consoling arm around the seamstress. "It's alright, Marinette. We'll just be here for a little while, then Ladybug will do her magic thing that puts everything right, and poof! Good as new, and with no memory that you were killed, or that you were ever here." Marinette, who had been sitting in shocked silence, burst in to tears.

_Well. That wasn't what I expected._

Chloé didn't know what to do, so she did nothing, just sat there with her arm around Marinette and let the girl cry herself out. As the sobbing slowed, then stopped, Chloé hugged her rival-turned-friend.

"It's going to be okay, you know. Ladybug-”

"Lady bug won't do anything, Chloé! She won't save us. She can't save us!" Chloé felt the blood drain from her face. She grabbed Marinette by both shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

"What do you mean? Marinette, what do you mean?" Marinette winced; each word hit her like a slap. "Marinette..." The answer stole into Chloé's heart and froze it solid. There's only one thing she could mean. Chloé didn't want to ask it, like speaking it aloud would make it true, so she was surprised to hear the words in her own voice. "Did you see it? Did you see her die?"

The question hung there in the air, almost palpable. Marinette gave the slightest of head shakes, and relief flooded through Chloé. Marinette just hung her head lower, whispering something that Chloé couldn't hear.

"What was that?" Marinette looked up, her eyes almost as red as the mask she wore, and locked gazes with Chloé. When she spoke, there was no quiver or hesitation in her voice, no trace of her previous near hysteria. Only a great sadness, which Chloé could feel in her veins.

"Ladybug isn't going to save us, Chloé. If I'm here, the Ladybug can't save us. Do you understand?" Chloé shook her head, bemused. Hysteria crept back into Marinette's voice, bled into her eyes. "She's me, Chloé."

"I'm Ladybug."

Comprehension hit Chloé like a ton of bricks, laying her out, shattering her composure. Tears burned down her face, blurring her vision. She saw the blurry red shape stand up, cackling hysterically. Marinette opened the boulangerie Door and stepped through without a pause. It closed behind her, shrinking rapidly until It disappeared with a pop.

And then, Chloé Bourgeois was alone, for the last time in her life.

* * *

_**Omake 1: Embarrassing Ways to Die** \- One of the basic assumptions of the fic is that the Miraculous Ladybug has a ret-con aspect to it. That thread made it through into the final cut, although in a much more implied manner. This particular scene never made it, even though I really wanted to get it in :)_

"So, what was your worst death?" Alya thought for a moment before responding.

"Pharaoh, I think. He dropped me on my head, and I slid face first down the entire Louvre pyramid." She shuddered. "Ladybug fixed it so I landed on my butt, though. Nothing injured but my pride." Alya considered for a moment before continuing, "...And my tailbone. How about you?"

Chloé didn't need to think about it, but she wanted to draw out the moment before she spoke. She realized she was embarrassed by it, and she blushed just a bit.

"Princess Fragrance, I think." Alya's eyebrow rose skeptically.

"Rose? Sweet little Rose killed you?" Alya couldn't keep the incredulous tone from her voice. Chloé blushed a little deeper.

"No, not Rose. At least, not directly." She sighed and took a moment to let her blush recede before continuing on. "On the Ponts des Arts, where Ladybug finally caught up with us. Princess Fragrance had control of us by then, and she ordered us to steal Ladybug's Miraculous. Well, I charged her, leading with my head, and she jumped out of the way. I ran into a light post so hard I broke my own neck." Chloé paused, waiting for the inevitable matador joke, but it never came. Looking over at her friend, Chloé saw that the Ladyblogger was wracked by silent laughter. Tears were starting to leak down her cheeks. She eventually laughed herself out.

* * *

_**Omake 2: Witches Three -** While I really liked this bit, I cut it from the hospital scene because it didn't flow well and I couldn't figure a way to crowbar it in, opting for a more abbreviated scene. Besides, the epilogue was already bigger than any other chapter :)_

"Look at us," Alya whispered. "Three old crones, just like in that play." Chloé caught on first, and strained her memory for the line. The other two were waiting in her.

"When shall we three meet again?" she croaked out in her "old witch" voice. Not that different from my regular voice, now. Marinette was on the ball, ready with the next line.

"When the hurley-burley's done, when the battle's fought and won." She smiled, too, remembering their brief foray into Classical Theatre. Alya's smile was tinged with sadness, though, as she whispered out her line.

"That will be ere the set of the sun." Tears glistened in her eyes, and sadness in her voice, but not regret; never regret, not for Alya, who had lived life to the fullest. All three of them knew that Alya's time was growing nearer and nearer now, and may well be ere the set of the sun. The room swam, and then there was no more use for words; the three of them just hugged, and cried.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for all the feedback on my silly little fic. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've got more soup in the pot, so to speak, but I'm going to adopt all_the_buttons' model of finishing the fic first, then posting it :)
> 
> Speaking of all_the_buttons, if you're a Marichat fan, you should go read Don't Keep Me Waiting Long. It's good.


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